


On Names

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, More angst, kinda cheesy and dramatic bc i Felt things writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Gerard had always been Mary's name, not his.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 18
Kudos: 54





	On Names

**Author's Note:**

> pro tip: if you want to stay hydrated, take a sip of water Every Time you read 'Gerry'  
> (take caution though, lest you drown)

“Gerry.”

It wasn’t even a memory, but more of a memory of a memory, one that had ceased to have a face a long time ago. It had taken a frustratingly short time for Gerry to forget how his father had looked, how exactly his voice had sounded. But he never forgot the  _ tone _ of how he had said that name. Warm and caring, loving. He held on to it, clutched it as nightmares turned to reality under Mary’s lessons. 

*

“Gerard!”

It was a stark contrast to what Gerry craved to hear, tried to remember as he pressed himself against the back of the closet, eyes screwed shut and hands clasped over his ears, rolled up uncomfortably. He was getting too big for hiding in the closet and Gerry dreaded the day he wouldn’t fit at all, because he couldn’t see any other place to feel safe in this house, even if it was only a poorly upheld illusion until Mary found him and pulled him out, bony hand grasping his arm painfully. But until then, Gerry made himself small, as small as he could, hoping, wishing he would disappear, merge with the closet-

“Gerard! I’m getting tired of this!”

He flinched and pressed his shaking hands harder against his ears, tried to go away, leave whatever Mary was planning to do with him this time here and go somewhere else. Gerry knew many places, but none without Mary, so he always failed. The only place she hadn’t managed to soil was that softly spoken ‘Gerry’, it didn’t sound right anymore, not really. Gerry had spend many nights trying to whisper it, to reproduce the tone so he wouldn’t forget, and now his memory partly sounded like himself and still he clung to it because it was the only comfort he knew when-

“Of course, here again. You really aren’t the  _ brightest _ , Gerard.”

Mary’s voice always made him freeze with when she said his name, even when she wasn’t angry. She said it like she’d say the titles of books she found particularly useless, of a particularly stubborn bloodstain, the way she talked about the Institute, so much contempt it used to make tears well up in his eyes right away until he learned that crying only lead to punishment which lead to more crying and more punishment. Gerry hated how much power she had over him with that name. He didn’t fight her when she forcefully pulled him out of the closet anymore.

As he grew older and did her bidding with little resistance her tone mellowed, but Gerry still hated it. Still hated it because he wasn’t Gerard, not how she wanted him to be, and yet he craved nothing more than to hear her say that name with affection, to at least say the name she considered his with anything close to the love he could now barely recall hearing from his father. 

A twisted sort of pride was the closest he ever got from Mary, and he clung to it, imagined she’d look at him the way she looked at the Leitners he brought home, the only instances Gerry ever saw her happy. Her ‘thank you, Gerard’s were an afterthought, but there was a sliver of satisfaction in her voice when she said it and Gerry wanted to hug her for it. He never did. He hated himself for wanting to.

‘Gerry’ was nothing by now, a memory hollowed out by holding it too tight, mumbling along to it too much, in tears, voice shaky and Gerry no longer really remembered it. He remembered that he used to remember it, however, and to that he still held on. Sometimes he wondered if he would stop coming back to Mary if he’d still have his father’s voice to carry him through the nights spent outside, trying to run away. Gerry would never know. He always found himself back at Mary’s.

“Gerard.”

It was all she ever said when he came back, a cruel, knowing smile on her lips and a taunt in her voice as he silently made his way to his room once again. He felt cold.

*

Gerry had started to introduce himself as Gerry a while ago, hoping that somebody, anybody, would say it the way he needed to hear it, would hold the name as dearly as he had all his life. It didn’t really work, but it was still nice to hear him being addressed as Gerry by strangers in a bar or another, friendly curiosity dropping into a husky murmur and later into wanton moaning - though by that stage, Gerry considered himself lucky if the name falling from those lips was his in any shape or form. He didn’t mind too much. Anything was better than Mary’s ‘Gerard’ and he took it all, eager to see if any of them gave him a semblance of security, of warmth. They didn’t. He never stopped trying.

*

“Oh, I-I’m terribly sorry, uh...oh- ah…” The blond - Michael, if Gerry recalled Gertrude’s introductions correctly - looked unreasonably distressed considering his files were the ones that were raining to the floor around them, not Gerry’s. His cheeks were red as he gave Gerry an apologetic, nervous smile, “I’m...I’m afraid I forgot your name already…”

Gerry bent down and started picking up the files from the floor. It hadn’t really been Michael’s fault. Gerry had been spacing out walking again. It still felt a unreal that Mary was gone for good. Sometimes Gerry got lost in that strange feeling.

“Gerry,” he mumbled as Michael bent down to help him gathering the files on the floor with a stuttered ‘thank you’ and another ‘sorry’.

He looked at Gerry’s face, eyebrows drawn together in confusion, cloudy grey eyes holding a curious glint. “Gerry?”

He said it carefully, syllables pronounced slowly, like he wanted to make sure he said it right. Gerry returned his curious glance equally at that, nodding slowly.

“Oh, I...I guess I just misheard Miss Robinson, sorry!” Michael shot up and Gerry gave him the rest of the files and Michael gave him a grateful smile, blush now encompassing most of his face as he said, “Thank you. And, uh...I’m sorry.”

Gerry was transfixed by the look of the freckles on his nose against the flushed skin. He felt his own face warm as it took him a bit too long to answer, “Don’t worry about it, uh...it...it was my fault, too.”

The silence was awkward and Michael was nervously playing with the edges of the paper in his arms. “Well, uh...it...it was nice to meet you properly.” Another smile, this time shy, “I’m Michael, by the way.”

Gerry couldn’t quite fight the grin tugging at his lips. “I know.”

“Oh! Of...of course, I didn’t mean to imply you- I mean-” Michael was managing to blush even more and Gerry felt equally fascinated as he felt sorry for making him so flustered. He smiled.

“It’s okay. Just a common name, so it stuck.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Why was he feeling nervous all of a sudden? “Uh, well….it was nice to meet you, too. I’ll...let you go back to work, then.”

Michael nodded. “Yes! Of course!” He took a step to walk around Gerry before he stopped, looking back at him. “Oh, if...if you need help? I know this place can feel like a maze so...feel free to ask me. I’m...I’m usually at my desk.” He pointed towards the open door he had been walking towards before crashing into Gerry. His tone was shy, but genuine and Gerry had to control his face to not let the wonder he felt at that slip into his expression.

“I...okay, thank you. Uhm...see you around.” He gave an awkward wave before walking away, unsure where he was even going. 

The only thing he was sure about was that his heartbeat was doing some very strange things.

*

Time passed slowly and incredibly quickly at the same time as Gerry learned an impressive amount of new ways his name could be said. The conspiratory whisper when Michael wanted him to come closer so he could share some office gossip, the half-chuckle when Gerry made him laugh but he wanted to keep it down, and later, when he stopped keeping it down, the lilting laughter as he looked at Gerry with crinkling eyes before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Gerry loved exploring all of those tones and ways Michael would call him, the mock-exasperation when Gerry asked for more sugar in his tea, the shy teasing tone when Michael caught him eyeing the pastries he always brought to work since he had found out Gerry really liked them.

The surprised, stuttered question when Gerry took his hand for the first time. The nervous whisper when Michael worked up the courage to ask for a kiss and got as many as he wanted, leaving him breathless and giggling Gerry’s name in his lovely voice, warm and affectionate and Gerry had very nearly cried. His cheeks hurt from how wide he was smiling when Michael leaned in again for another kiss. Gerry felt full, filled to the brim at the sound of his name, at the kiss. With what he didn’t know, but when he whispered Michael’s name into the kiss it was heavy and light with all of it, loving and caring, and wonder at how he didn’t only got to hear his own name said like he had wanted to hear it for so long but at how he managed to make his voice sound like that, too, the same tone he had tried so hard to replicate all those years but had never managed to even come close to. 

It was Gerry’s turn to chuckle and laugh as he pulled Michael closer and Michael pulled him closer and warmths soon turned to heat as fingers found skin and Michael gasped Gerry’s name, half a question for permission as his fingers danced on the hem of Gerry’s shirt, restless. 

Gerry thought he knew how his name sounded gasped and whined and moaned, but he didn’t. Not the way Michael did it, laced with the same affection, like that was just the right way, the basis to how to say Gerry’s name, the want just another layer added to it. Gerry wanted to hear more.

“Gerry?” Michael slurred, barely awake. It sounded different than when he was struggling to say Gerry’s name while drunk, an undertone of contentment and a pleased hum accompanying the name now as his hands slid off Gerry’s body as Gerry sat up. “Where you going?” 

There was a small, confused frown on his pretty face when Gerry looked down at him, concern in his hazy eyes slowly pushing the contentement away. Gerry wasn’t sure he understood the question. 

“Home?” He tried carefully. It felt even more wrong to refer to his apartment as such since he had Michael. Home was lying in this bed, lips still pink and kiss-swollen, curls a halo around his beautiful face as he blinked sleepily up at Gerry, lashes throwing playful shadows along his cheeks. Gerry bit his lip. He didn’t want to go.

Michael’s cheeks flushed once again as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Oh, I...I thought- don’t...don’t you want to...stay?”

“Stay?” Gerry looked at him sceptically, trying to determine whether Michael was closer to sleep than he previously thought. His eyes looked clearer now.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face. He was biting his lip with that shy expression that had been a lot more common in the beginning of their acquaintanceship, but still made it onto his face fairly frequently. “I mean...only if you want?”

It was starting to dawn on Gerry that Michael meant it. He felt his cheeks grow warm as he stumbled over possible answers to this. All he ended up with was a weak “Oh.”

“You don’t have to! I...it’s just...late. And it’s a weekend anyways and- oh, do you...do you have to be somewhere tomorrow morning? I didn’t consider, I-”

Gerry shut him up with a kiss, trying to put the overwhelming warmth he was feeling into it, the surprise and the tears he refused to shed because he didn’t want to worry Michael. He wanted to thank him.

“I’m sorry, I...I’m just not used to...be asked to stay, I guess.” Gerry whispered as they had settled back under the covers and his head was leaning against Michael’s warm chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. It was such a beautiful sound and Gerry felt giddy at the prospect of listening to it all night. It made the memory of Mary never caring whether he ran away or not more bearable.

“Gerry…” It wasn’t exactly pity, but something like it as Michael pulled him closer, planted a kiss on the top of his head. “I always want you to stay.”

This time, Gerry couldn’t keep the tears from falling as the words settled, somewhere deep within him, and he clutched onto Michael as sobs started to well up, started to make him shake as he cried. 

To his surprise, Michael didn’t panic. He held him tighter, cradled him and gently rubbed his back, ran fingers through mussed hair. It made Gerry cry harder and he hiccuped apologies between the sobs and tears, afraid Michael would let go of him, appalled by the mess Gerry was. Instead, Michael kissed his head, again and again, mumbling reassuring nothings into his hair, saying it was okay, that it would be okay, and Gerry let his voice lull him into calm, tried to focus on the steady heart against his ear rather than the one racing in his own ribcage.

“Thank you.” It was the heaviest ‘thank you’ Gerry ever spoke and yet it still felt insufficient for what he wanted Michael to know, to understand.

Michael shook his head gently, hand coming to rest against Gerry’s cheek and moving his head so Gerry was looking at him. He was met with a soft, maybe a little sad, smile and eyes shimmering with tears and so much warmth Gerry felt like he’d never seen a colour as warm as this particular shade of grey.

“I love you, Gerry.”

Gerry’s mouth fell open in schock, unable to process hearing those words in such a genuine tone, so much love and fondness and he felt like he might cry again. He didn’t. 

Instead, he mumbled, “I’m a mess.”

“And I love you.” The smile on Michael’s lips looked nearly cheeky and Gerry was speechless and simply buried his head back in Michael’s chest, pressing him closer. Michael made a strange, somewhat strangled noise and Gerry quickly let go.

“I’m...I’m sorry was...was that too much?” His eyes were wide with worry as he searched Michael’s for any sign of pain. Michael chuckled, that beautiful, light noise that felt like soft, white clouds on a bright blue sky.

“Well, unless you were trying to rearrange my ribs, yes, that was just a little bit too much force.” His tone was back to teasing, a sliver of amusement joining the fond tone and warm eyes.

Gerry’s lips curled into a smile automatically, his somewhat hoarse voice still managing to match the teasing tone, “Maybe that’s a sign you should eat more.”

Now Michael laughed and so did Gerry and soon enough they were back in each other’s arms, laughter down to giggles as they exchanged some fleeting kisses before falling back into a sleepy silence, a calm that was utterly unfamiliar to Gerry.

“I love you, too, Michael,” he mumbled after a while, and the words felt strange on his tongue but also like the truest words he had ever spoken. Michael gave him a groggy hum as a response, burying his nose in Gerry’s hair.

*

Gerry learned more ways his name could be said in the weeks that followed - was it months? It wasn’t enough - every shade of sleepy, happy, blissful, even, but also upset when Gerry came back bruised and cut from one of his hunts, afraid when he called to tell Michael he wouldn’t be coming home for a while. Sad when Gerry couldn’t make it to their dates because he was stuck in the hospital, worried, angry, even, when Michael figured that out and came running with tears in his eyes, begging Gerry to tell him right away next time. 

He never pleaded for him to stop. Michael knew Gerry’s job was important to him and that there was little chance in him stopping. Gerry was thankful he never tried talking him out of it. He felt guilty for the weary ‘Gerry’ Michael ended up sighing, finally sitting down on the hospital bed after he had exhausted himself pacing and telling Gerry, in a shaky voice, that he should be more careful, that he should tell Michael when he was in the hospital, that he should tell him if he could help in any way, if he needed anything. 

Gerry took Michael’s hand, threading their fingers together, sighing at the familiarity of the feeling, Michael’s soft hand against his own. Gerry had what he needed. He told Michael so. And Michael shook his head, a mixture of despair and fondness playing on his features. But he did bend down and kiss Gerry and it felt like everything was as good as things would ever get for Gerry. He was happy.

Gerry did try to make up for all of those instances Michael’s voice had gone high with worry and panic at his sight - or the lack of it - and, overall, there was a lot more positive ‘Gerry’s uttered during their time together than negative ones, and Gerry found that miraculous. 

Michael, when Gerry tried to explain it, found it rather cute, and he peppered Gerry’s face with kisses until Gerry was the one giggling, a bubbly sound he hadn’t known he possessed before Michael. A sound that always made Michael’s eyes light up, and Michael pulled him into his lap and kissed him more and eventually, the kisses lingered and Gerry found skin to kiss himself and his hands were making their way underneath Michael’s sweater and Michael mumbled Gerry’s name against his ear, a low question that drew a shiver from Gerry as Michael gently flicked his tongue over Gerry’s earlobe. Gerry nearly forgot to nod an answer.

*

Gerry knew the goodbye would be a final one and the worst part was that Michael didn’t. Gertrude had been clear about it - to Gerry, not to Michael - and Gerry had ignored the looming finality of their time together because he wanted to make the best of it. But now it had come. Gerry saw it in Gertrude’s gaze even before she had given him a warning look. 

She didn't need to worry, Gerry wasn’t going to say anything. He was fairly sure that even if he tried, Michael would still go anyways. Michael was the kind of person that’d walk straight into death if somebody told him he could save a single person doing so. Warning him would only make this last night unbearable. And Gerry didn’t want that, couldn’t take that. 

He wanted nothing more than to hold onto Michael, to drink him in and listen to every word and sigh and hum, to remember his features and his voice, to remember all the many, many ways Michael knew to say Gerry’s name, remember his fingers dancing on Gerry’s ribs and arms and the dull nails burying into his shoulders, his arms as Gerry took him apart, slowly, slower than usual and Michael was whining and pleading and Gerry wanted to cry because he knew he’d never hear this again. Instead, he relented, hoping to at least make Michael’s last night a pleasant one.

“So, you’ll keep an eye on my plants?” Michael mumbled later when Gerry’s back was flush against his chest and an air of calm had fallen over them. At least Gerry hoped he seemed calm. He was tired. It was late, he hadn’t slept much since Gertrude announced the Russia trip, so maybe that helped. He gave a weak nod that hopefully could be excused for sleepiness. He didn’t dare to speak. 

Gerry shouldn’t have stayed the night, should have made up an excuse and went home to have the inevitable breakdown. But he just couldn't, had been unable to deny one last night of feeling Michael’s heartbeat, his skin, his warm breath against Gerry’s neck. It was all so much and Gerry wanted to freeze time, hold on to this moment for dear life, forever. 

Time didn’t work that way.

He didn’t have to pretend sleepiness in the morning - it was still night, really - because Gerry hadn’t slept, had been unable afford to miss a single moment of  _ Michael _ . Michael who was now all bundled up and checking his pockets for the hundredth time. Gerry rubbed his eyes, hoping the tears weren’t visible.

“Okay, I guess I have everything,” Michael mumbled and looked back at Gerry with a tired smile, eyes still a little hazy. He hadn’t quite managed to shake off sleep. 

Gerry smiled, despite himself, at how utterly adorable Michael looked like this. Cozy and beautiful and like  _ home _ and Gerry was about to say goodbye to him forever. His stomach was a tight knot and he nearly fell into Michael’s arms when latter leaned in for a hug, a kiss. Michael startled, not having expected something quite this enthusiastic from how tired Gerry had looked. He didn’t complain however, and Gerry hurt so bad, deep down, when Michael returned the too-tight hug and kissed his cheek.

“I’ll be back before you notice my absence, Gerry. It’s okay.”

This wasn’t the first time Michael would be off with Gertrude. It would be the last time, though, and Gerry’s heart cracked. His smile was watery when he looked up at Michael. 

“I always miss you the moment you’re out of sight, Michael.”

Michael blushed beautifully - another important thing to remember, the shade, the freckles against red - a teasing grin playing on his lips.

“Oh, you’re being dramatic.”

“Am not.” Gerry mumbled, but he felt like he might lose the fight with the tears soon, so he closed the space between them for one last, tender kiss, trying to keep the bittersweet taste of it to himself when it hit him that this would be, truly, the final kiss. It was nearly too much to bear when Michael brought his fingers to Gerry’s cheek to deepen it.

Michael smiled when they pulled away. “Okay, I need to hurry now. Take care, yes? Text me if something happens.” He pressed his lips to Gerry’s forehead for a moment. “See you soon, Gerry,” he said with a wink before letting go and grabbing his luggage by the already open door and walking through it. 

Gerry watched him and Michael turned back for a small wave that Gerry returned with a weak one of his own, trying hard to return Michael’s nearly-cheerful smile. Cheerful had always looked so good on him.

Gerry waited until Michael was out of sight before closing the door and leaning against the inside of it, breaking down into tears that had waited too long to be shed and violent sobs that made him hit the floor soon enough, legs too shaky to hold him up even with his back pressed into the wood of the door.

Gerry knew he couldn’t stay crying on the floor forever - not for a lack of trying - but he found himself there again as soon as Gertrude returned without Michael. He had known, of course, but the yawning emptiness that settled when he walked into the Institute that day was something new. 

It wouldn’t stay new for very long. Empty was what Gerry would end up calling the years that followed. The Institute felt empty. Michael’s - no, Gerry’s - apartment felt empty. Gerry’s old apartment had felt incredibly empty when he had packed up his things to bring them to Michael’s place as he imagined how gleeful Michael might have looked if he were there to see, if they would have decided on the move together, a kind of next step in their relationship. 

Gerry wondered a lot about what ifs and the floor was always there to catch him when he inevitably worked himself up into another breakdown. He assumed one day his tears would dry up as time passed and he kept crying, kept holding on to memories of blond hair and shy smiles and so many ‘Gerry’s spoken with so much fondness and love and Gerry felt like he might drown and he wished he did. 

He didn’t. His tears also never dried up. Gerry pushed on. The most empty thing was himself.

*

He wasn’t surprised, not really, when death came. Gerry had felt something was wrong - more wrong - for a while but had lacked the motivation to do anything about it. What for? It might have kept him from work, which was the best distraction he had from the gaping hole Michael had left within him. 

Gerry wished he was there, as he felt himself slipping, wished he were pacing and ranting about Gerry’s recklessness and then sit down by him and hold Gerry’s hand, and hold _ him _ and kiss him so Gerry could die with Michael’s warmth, could feel safe as life flowed out of him. All he had was memories. He knew they paled in comparison but Gerry was too weak to weep about that.

Gerry wasn’t prepared for the pain. Could have never been prepared for such pain, the kind he knew would have made him black out in life. But Gerry wasn’t alive anymore. He stayed conscious, every second of existence agony and had he not screamed himself hoarse in the first hours he’d still be screaming. He was crying instead. It felt wrong, everything did and Gerry rolled up in the darkness he had found himself in, and closed his eyes against it, desperately trying to remember warm grey eyes through the blinding pain.

*

“Gerard Keay.”

Gerry hadn’t caught her name, but the hunter said his with a mixture of fear and surprise. It would turn cold very soon, too similar to how Gertrude had said it in those last weeks when Gerry was starting to get slower and bitter with loss he blamed her for. But he never left. Like with Mary, he always came back to do her bidding. 

He was tired of that now, however, furious about the fact that death had been denied to him, that he was supposed to be useful even now when all he knew was pain and faint memories of a loving voice that kept being swallowed by Gerry’s own screams, sometimes of pain, sometimes of frustration because the memories had grown so foggy by now and he craved their warmth,  _ needed  _ their warmth, needed to hear his name being said with kindness and fondness, wanted Michael’s arms around him, wanted to bury his face in those soft curls. He couldn’t remember how any of that had really felt anymore, could barely remember how it had felt to have a fucking body. Gerry wanted to be left alone, wanted to finally  _ end _ .

*

It was the resigned despair that made him tell the archivist about everything, mostly. Gerry didn’t care anymore, not really. He had started answering the hunters, too. He had started to beg them to burn the page with no success. But he still helped them because Gerry was tired, so tired and he felt so very empty, Michael little more than a name he cradled close to his heart, a dying flame with the lack of memories to keep it warm. There was too much pain to remember anything that wasn’t pain in life, to remember how anything else had even felt. 

And fuck, Gerry had tried. He wanted this to end. And he had the archivist’s promise, so he spilled everything he considered relevant. The new archivist seemed nice enough - compared to Gertrude most people did, though, and Gerry wasn’t sure he had much of a concept for ‘nice’ anymore - and Gerry felt strangely satisfied when he finished speaking. Maybe there was something akin to smile on Gerry’s face. It felt as wrong as everything else did nowadays.

“I think...I think I’m ready to go. I’m done.” He looked at Jon. “Hide my page, and when you’re out of here, burn it.” He didn’t know how imploring his gaze could really be now, but Gerry tried, “Please.”

Jon got up from his chair with a nod. “I will. Thank you, Gerard.”

“Gerry.” Just one last time, Gerry would like to hear his name, the name that he’d been guarding for himself all his life.  _ His _ name, not Mary’s.

“What?” The confusion on Jon’s face looked nearly funny. Gerry managed another smile.

“Gerard was what my mum called me.” He chuckled, feeling a little embarrassed about this silly request. But it would be his last one. “I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry.”

Jon looked incredibly awkward for a moment, before catching himself again, “Thank you, Gerry. Uh...I dismiss you.”

Gerry barely heard the rest of the sentence. He smiled at his own name one last time, wondering if Michael had ever said it as clumsily as Jon just had, before he dissolved.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't intend this to be shippy at first, well no, at first I did then I was like "Nah let's lean more into the introspection and make it kind of canon-y following" but this morning I woke up and read "Hold Me" by TheeMithra and it gave me Emotions and then I for some cursed reason decided to put on Sad Music and look by that point I just was in a Mood and this was bound to end up dramatically cheesy, okay?


End file.
